


Scars To Your Beautiful

by ScarletPotter



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Crying, Cuddles, Hurt Peter Parker, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No one hurts their baby bear, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Self-Harm, Stony - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, affectionate nicknames, but stony parents got this, kids are mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 19:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21203189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletPotter/pseuds/ScarletPotter
Summary: Peter thinks that he's ugly. He's not. Says who? Says his Dads Tony Stark and Steve Rogers.





	Scars To Your Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ma dudes! I'll admit, this is one of my best writing, I've been dealing with an intense writing block and I make it a priority to write at least two one-shots a week, so you can probably imagine how that went down. But, dear author was able to come up with something semi-decent, so please don't be so critical.
> 
> TW: Self-harm and suicidal thoughts. Read at your own risk!

Peter hates himself. 

Not in a typical cliche, or angsty way, but he looks at himself and can’t help the feelings of hatred and disgust that his brain conjures. It’s like he’s trapped in his own world of self-hate, and he’s sinking and he can’t get up. 

His arms are too skinny. People call them “sticks”.

His nose is oddly shaped. People call it “weird and gross”, or even “get that checked out jeez”. 

He is abnormally thin. He weighs less than one hundred pounds, and the whole world seems to make fun of him for it. They call him “a weakling”, merely because they can pick him up, and because he’ll never be like them, tall and able-bodied. 

Sometimes the kids joke, “You’re so skinny, what are you, anorexic? If that’s what you’re going for, then might as well fucking go and kill yourself dumbass.”

“Stupid skinny kid.”

He is shorter than the rest of the boys in his grade, and it’s not even by a lot of inches, but Peter longs to fit in with everyone else. 

“Shortstack.”

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Whenever Peter raises his hand to offer an answer, he’s greeted with snickering as people call out, “Who has a stick in their sleeve? Oh, wait, Peter’s a stick!”

Within two weeks, Peter has earned the nickname “Stickboy”. 

Peter stops raising his hand, afraid of the remarks people will say. 

Peter starts wearing oversized clothes instead of his favorite graphic tees, so people don’t see just how skinny his arms are, and slightly baggy pants so no one makes comments about his thighs. He’s never been seen as a problem before, why is he being seen as one now?

Day by day, Peter stops smiling. Peter’s heart feels hollows as the comments become more repetitive and meaner, to the point where he lingers to class, and wastes no time in getting out before someone can holler something along the lines of “Stickboy”. 

But he doesn’t let his Dads see it, they have enough to worry about. 

Today was no different than yesterday, and all the yesterdays before it. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he felt was the usual dread form in the pit of his stomach. He forced himself out of the warmth and safety his bed brought and quickly got dressed into oversized clothing and began to mentally prepare himself for the day that lay ahead of him. 

His first two classes, AP Bio and Spanish went relatively well. By well, meaning that it was no different than all the other days, where people would make a remark about how thin he was when he entered the door making a pun, “Oh hey Peter, didn’t see you there, literally, gain some weight slop.” 

Peter learned to merely stick his head down and say nothing, unless he wanted a beating after school. In the beginning of the torment, he’d retort back a few sarcastic comments that would have made Tony proud, but found himself blushing out of humiliation when his face was forced into the toilet bowl of the girl’s bathroom, or was tackled by the entire football team and had bruises that refused to fade for weeks, serving as a reminder of how much the world hated Peter. 

And Peter would admit, he hated himself. Because he seemed to make everyone else hate him, which meant that clearly, he was the problem, not the fucked up society that he was thrust into. 

After Spanish class, that’s when everything took a horrible turn. 

In class, they were doing a jeopardy game for the upcoming test on Tuesday, and the person who got the most questions right would get five extra points on their test. Peter, who really wanted to ace the exam had memorized nearly all of his notes from front to back, got comfortable and pen poised to write answers in hand. 

Each time a question presented, Peter scribbled his answer down and practically threw his hand up in the air, waiting for the teacher to confirm whether or not he was correct. What Peter didn’t realize was that each time he raised his hand, his sleeve rolled down a few inches, revealing the thin red lines of faded scarring. 

One kid called out, “Yo, who has a red stripe on their skinny-ass arm?” 

Majority of Peter’s class chorused, “Peter, obviously. C’mon Zach, get some new material.” 

Peter felt his cheeks tint red as he shifted in his seat uncomfortably wishing that everyone would stop looking at him. He hated being the center of attention, and his Spidey senses sure as hell didn’t make it any better, only making everything feel three thousand times worse. 

While the teacher read off the next question, Peter found himself conflicted. He wanted those five points, but in order to do so, he needed to get the teacher’s attention, which would only be through raising his hand. Which meant giving his classmates the chance to bully him even more about his physique.

He closed his eyes for a few moments, exhaling softly trying to avoid a panic attack as the teacher told them to write down their answers. Peter knew he was the first one down, so he clutched his sleeve as he waved his hand just above his head, not enough to gain everyone’s attention, but just the person he was going for. 

But even then, someone had to whisper some crude remark. 

_ Someone always had to say something, didn’t they? _

Peter blinked back the tears for what must have been the umpteenth time of the day, and dipped his head down, wishing that he could just go home and never go back. They weren’t supposed to see his scars, no one was! Peter felt the panic release in his brain as it traveled through his veins and arteries and all the way back to his pumping heart. He heard the laughter, but not the genuine kind that would come out of his Papa when he told a funny joke, or when Peter did something dorky in front of his Dad, but the kind that sounded evil and malicious, and just made Peter’s heart clench in disgust. 

The devious laughter only continued, making Peter’s eyes well up with furious tears that he quickly wiped away to avoid the typical insults about how babyish he was. He knew he was pathetic, but he sure as hell didn’t need to hear it every single damn day. 

When the bell rang, dismissing them from their class, Peter felt a harsh shove as his ribs made a rough encounter with the tiled floor. He moved to get up, but a firm foot was on his back. Peter longed to use his powers and get the kid off of him, but Peter Parker took the taunting before the spider bite, so Peter Parker continues to take the taunting. 

Peter didn’t bother negotiating with the bullies, and remained silent as they have their way with him, punching him all over his face and chest and making sure that Peter stays down. Peter makes no sound, except for the silent sound of Peter’s heart shattering into tiny red-rimmed pieces. 

Peter doesn’t bother showing up to his next class, instead, pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle the sobs that wrack the trembling boy’s body as he wished that he was dead. 

How long Peter stayed there, he had no clue, but it must have been a while because he heard the rough laughing of boys which meant that it was probably lunchtime. He sighed as he violently shook, peeling himself off the cold, blue-tiled flooring and headed to lunch, praying for the day to be over already.

If he had the choice to go back in time, he would’ve just stayed in the damn bathroom. 

He sat down at the usual table where he sat all by himself, and began to force himself to satisfy his increased metabolism when he felt something hard hit his head. Peter sighed, turning around, “How may I help you now?”

Goon number one chuckled, “We don’t want your help Parker, we don’t want you around, or are you too dumb to get the fucking memo?”

Goon number two added, “Yeah, you haven’t figured it out? We hate you. I don’t know why you bother showing up here, you don’t belong here, fucking loser!”

Goon number three chimed, “Pathetic freak is all you are. You can’t sit here, you’re ruining our appetites, get the hell out of here.” 

Peter replied quietly, “I sit alone, you don’t have to look at me.” 

He was immediately shot down when goon number one replied, “How can we not when you’re so fucking ugly? You’re a literal waste of space, go the fuck away or we’ll make you.”

Peter shook his head, “You don’t have to look at me, I’m not bothering you, leave me alone.” 

Goon number two took Peter’s sandwich and “accidentally” let it fall to the ground as goons one and three harshly picked Peter off the seat and slammed him onto the floor. Peter whimpered, grabbing his backpack, “I’ll go, fine.”

He ran away as tears streamed down his face, crying harder when the boys start howling about “how pathetic penis was, that he couldn’t even take a beating properly!”

Peter ran into the bathroom, fists clenching and unclenching as all he could feel was anger and hate at everything and everyone when he whispered brokenly, “I can’t do this anymore.” He swung through the open window and didn’t stop until he was perched on the top of the Brooklyn Bridge. 

He chose the bridge purposely, it was under construction, and there was no one around him to talk to him, or the sound of whooshing cars that continued to honk because they were running late. Peter sighed as he dipped his head down and let the welling tears spill and fall into the body of water that seemed eerily close to him. Peter closed his eyes, trying to find a ground of peace but could only feel the heartbreak, and the pain and more violently: the anger. 

He felt the sudden urge to jump, and for a moment he felt his hands ready to let him fall and it scared him. He froze, on the verge of a panic attack and did the only thing he could think of: call his dads. He fumbled for his phone quickly tapping on Tony’s contact and praying that he’d pick up. Because if he didn’t….the idea scared him. 

Luckily, Tony answered his phone and was about to speak when Peter’s worried voice filtered through, “Dad?” He sounded close to full-out sobbing which worried Tony, “Bud? What’s wrong?” Peter merely replied, “Can you come pick me up, please? I’m on the Brooklyn Bridge. Please hurry?”

To say that Tony didn’t panic when he heard Peter say that he was on the Brooklyn Bridge would be a huge understatement, and Tony spoke in a soft tone, “I’m on my way, would you like for me to stay on the line?” It was Tony’s turn for heartbreak when Peter replied in a desperate tone, “Yes please.”

Tony nodded calling out to FRIDAY to deploy his suit as well as alert Steve of Baby Bear Protocol and took off heading to the Brooklyn Bridge. He made sure that his boots made a thudding sound to not scare Peter from falling off the edge. Tony spoke softly as he sat down next to Peter, “Bud? You mind moving away from the edge?” 

Peter’s nod is minimal and then he latches himself onto Tony and started sobbing. Tony, slightly startled by Peter’s outburst accepts Peter’s weight, and slightly rocks him, “Peter, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me, did something happen?”

Peter nods, “Someone always says something. They keep saying mean things Dad, that I’m so ugly and skinny, and I was so angry, I, for a moment, I wanted to, but I didn’t want to, and then I, got scared, and called you...” Tony held Peter tighter as he carded a hand through Peter’s curls speaking softly, “Hey, hey, I’ve got you, you’re okay. I’m proud of you for calling me, okay? Let’s get you home, Papa’s making a blanket fort, let’s not keep him waiting.” He hoisted Peter who was still wearing his backpack bridal style, and headed home. 

Peter was still crying as Tony landed, and Steve had worry etched over his features as Tony carefully placed Peter in Steve’s arms so he could remove the armor. Steve carefully held his crying boy, letting the boy bury his head in the crook of his neck, “Hey, I’ve got you, you’re okay Bambi, let’s get you a fresh set of clothes to wear, yeah? I just did the laundry so all your clothes are nice and warm.” 

He carried Peter up to his room and rummaged through his closet for Tony’s maroon MIT sweatshirt aka the one that Peter liked to wear when he was sad along with a pair of sweatpants as he gently set Peter down on the bed. 

He helped a weary Peter change into his sleeping clothes, and it was then when he glimpsed thin red lines across Peter’s arms, as well as a collection of bruises that most definitely did not belong there. Steve felt his heart break as he gently caressed Peter’s arms and saw the embarrassment that Peter wore as he asked, “Petey pie, what happened?” Peter merely replied, “I can’t, it takes the pain away, don’t want to bother you and Dad.” He sniffled again, mentally smacking himself for sounding so babyish to the point where he needed his own dad to help his fifteen-year-old self change into a pair of clothes. 

But Steve was having none of that. He scooped his boy up and planting a firm kiss on his forehead, “Peter Anthony Stark-Rogers, you most definitely are not, and will never be a bother to me or to your Dad, you understand me?” 

Peter wanted to argue, he was a bother to everyone. Because if he wasn’t a bother, then the kids at school would leave him alone, or even try to be his friend instead of pummeling him to pieces every single day. 

Steve opened the door to the bedroom that he and Tony shared to find Tony waiting under the covers with a concerned look on his face. Tony glanced to where Steve’s hands were rubbing, and blinked back the tears when he saw the scars and bruises that Peter’s skin wore delicately. He knew what self-harm was, he had a few scars from doing so when he was in his twenties and happened to drink a tad bit too much. 

He and Steve shared sad looks as Steve slid into the covers, still clutching a tired Peter. Peter refused to meet either of his Dads eyes, embarrassment and humiliation creeping into blush as his cheeks tinted red. But the sad look on Tony’s faced sent the waterworks crashing as he launched himself onto Tony’s neck and bawled. 

Tony wraps his arms around the broken boy as he softly rocks the boy, rubbing soft circles with one hand as he speaks softly, “Bambino, talk to us. We’ll help you, we’re Iron Man and Captain America, there’s nothing we can’t fix.” 

Peter mutters in a harsher tone than intended, “Can you fix me?”

Steve frowns as he traces random patterns on Peter’s cold fingers speaking firmly but gently at the same time, “My Peter is perfect just the way he is, what’s there that needs to be fixed?” 

Peter’s voice sounds extremely child-like as he speaks in a broken tone, “Then why am I so ugly? Then why do all the kids keep saying mean things about me and just won’t leave me  _ alone _ ?” 

Tony dips his head down next to Peter’s, “Petey, you listen to me carefully okay? You’re not ugly, you’re not anything those awful things those assholes said, I swear on my life Peter, you’re so much more, so much  _ better _ than them. Peter Stark-Rogers is the kindest, most brilliant boy, most beautiful boy I know, and anyone who says otherwise can find themselves in a casket buried six feet under.”

Peter can’t help the doubts that run through his head as he voices, “They keep hitting me, and no matter how many times I told them to stop, they don’t. They don’t let me eat in the cafeteria, because I’m so ugly that I ruin their appetite. They keep calling me stickboy and they won’t stop!” 

Peter’s cries pick up all over again and all he can do is helplessly plead against Tony’s chest, the same Tony who has never felt more helpless in his entire life until now. This time, Steve speaks as he lets Peter curl against his chest, “Bear, I’m so,  _ so _ sorry that those punks are saying these things to you, and if I could make it go away trust me, I would. But I’m telling you, those words that they’re saying about you being ‘ugly’ and ‘stickboy’? They’re not true. My Peter is the strongest boy I know, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve the shit those assholes as your Dad called them gives you. You aren’t ugly because you’re skinny or because you have scars, if they can’t respect you for who you are, then they're not worth your time. Those bullies are just jealous of you, you get me? They’re just insecure, dumb asses who want to watch you fall, but I’m not letting that happen, you understand me?”

Peter nods, “You really think so?” He doesn’t care how childish he sounds, he has to make sure. 

Both of his Dads nod with genuine smiles as Tony wraps his arms around Peter and pressing a kiss to his cheek as he promises, “I know so. Now let’s get some rest, okay, my little bear looks exhausted.” 

He pulls Peter back into his arms, knowing how soothing Peter finds the blue light that his arc reactor emits. When they’re laid down and comfy, Steve speaks in a consoling tone, “And Peter, you’re not a liability or a burden to us okay? You don’t have to hide anything from us, we’re your dads, we’ll make everything better, and we would never get angry at you, I promise. Can you promise us one thing though? The next time you feel like hurting yourself again, you come to one of us instead okay? You know we love you so much, alright?”

Peter nods as he cuddles into the space between his Dads, “‘m promise.”


End file.
